What's Life Without a Challenge?
by flawlesses
Summary: If you knew the old Massie Block, the AIA agent, you would know that she was not the type of girl to have ever spent more than five minutes in a mall. But meet Westchester Massie: the girl who experiences heartbreak, drama, and betrayal, when really, she just wants to finish her mission. Multi-chap!
1. Just the Beginning

**hi guyss it's me dream and this is my first story YAYYYY sidneoqnxjakf but sadly I am posting off of my mobile so it might not be perfect**

**BUT u can thank my perfect beta-reader Joy aka outside the crayon box! *cheers* **

**and i know the idea of Massie being an agent is so overdone and popular these days, but I have a really great idea so stick with me!**

**disclaimer: I do nawt own the clique (what it's fun to pretend to have a New York accent)**

* * *

**AIA HEADQUARTERS**

**DIRECTOR'S OFFICE**

**FRIDAY, JANUARY 2**

**6:30 PM**

I brush a lock of stringy hair behind my ear and lean back in the plastic chair. Drumming my fingers on the chair arms, I begin to wonder where Director is with my mission info.

I'm an agent for the AIA (Agent Incorporated Association). Being 13 and the top agent in an age group 10-30, I'm pretty sure it's obvious that I'm not the kind of girl who obsesses over cute clothes and fad styles and boyfriends.

Until Director walks in with a file that changes my life.

* * *

"May-sie, dear!" Director exclaimed. "How are-"

"It's Massie."

"Right..." Director flushes and clears his throat. "Anyways, are you ready?"

I manage a smile. "Ready as I'll ever be, Director."

I always hate getting new missions. So far, none of my missions have been enjoyable, especially that last one- those poor zebras!

But I stop spinning in the chair and turned to face Director, ready.

"Alright, here you go." Director Jones slides a file across the long table. "Len Rivera, or rather, Len Rivers."

I open up the file and sigh at the man smirking up at me. I hate cases where I have to work with people much older than me.

Len Rivers has deep brown hair and tan skin. 'Spanish, maybe?' I guess, flipping through the other pages in the file.

"Well, kind of." It wasn't until Director spoke that I realize I had said, 'Spanish, maybe?' out loud.

"Mr. Rivers was originally a poor immigrant from Spain. But when he moved to America, he wanted to be different. Wealthier. More powerful. So he became a lawyer." Director Jones paused. "But apparently, that wasn't good enough. So Mr. Rivers apparently stole hundreds of millions of dollars from Marcus Rivera, and then killed him, stealing his identity along the way and now calling himself Len Rivera."

I sit up straighter in my chair. "I'm not liking this Rivers guy too much."

"I would sure hope not," Director declares. "But anyways, now Rivers has too much money than he knows what to do with. And according to our sources, all that money? Hidden in his basement."

I snort. "Isn't he clever."

"Quite," Director agrees with a nod and a grin. "So then Rivers decided to marry Nadia Castilla." He hands me a file. "And have one daughter, Alicia." Another file.

I open up Alicia's file and stare, in awe, at the absolutely stunning girl smiling back at me. Long, dark chocolate hair falls in waves, and perfectly tan skin glows. Big brown eyes complete the look, and one perfectly poised eyebrow makes you shiver, or at least I do. Not that I worry about being girly and pretty the way most girls my age obsessed with. And my stringy chestnut hair, dull amber eyes, pale skin, and long thin figure show it.

"Alicia," Director pointed to the picture I was still staring at, transfixed, "is the only thing Len cares about more than his money. May-sie, your job is to become friends with this Alicia. Good friends. As in, she tells you everything and invites you to her house, where the money is hidden. I guess you could say you two had to become, what do you girls call it these days? BFBSF's?"

"I think you mean BFF's, Director. And my name is Massie."

I take a deep breath, and glance one more time over Alicia's picture. _This won't be easy,_ I think, _but what's life without a challenge?_

And maybe, just maybe, I'll have a chance to see how the other half live.

"I'm in," I proclaim, and Director and I shake hands to seal the done deal.

* * *

**RIVERA MANSION**

**ALICIA'S ROOM**

**FRIDAY, JANUARY 2**

**6:45 PM**

"Alright, girlies," I say briskly, with a smile. "What have you got?"

My Beta, Dylan Marvil, daughter of nationally famous Daily Grind host Merri-Lee Marvil, speaks She's first. "10 points. Olivia Ryan's back in school. After _finally _recuperating from _ah-nother_ nose job."

You'd think Dylan would have better stuff, being related to the most gossipy woman of all time. I roll my eyes. "She's been back for a week. Two points."

Dylan pouted and retied her ponytail. Red curls kept popping out.

"Kris, you next," I decide.

Kristen smirks. "My pleasure. 10 points?"

I gesture for her to go on.

"Derrington broke up with Allie-Rose Singer. Ah-gain."

"No way!" Claire gasps. "Cam was positive Allie was a keeper!"

"Nope," Kristen tells her with a slight grin. "Broke up after a movie date gone wrong last week."

I raised my eyebrow. "Interesting. Well, Kris, you definitely earned your gossip points."

Kristen pumps a fist into the air and leans back victoriously.

"Next: Kuh-laire. Got anything?" I turn to look at the platinum blonde, who looked down.

"No," she said meekly. But it's really no surprise. Claire hardly ever has gossip for us.

It is, if you don't already know, the Pretty Committee's legendary Friday night sleepover. The girls in my clique are the hottest, most popular girls in OCD, an exclusive private school in Westchester.

First, we have me, the Alpha, obviously. I am, just to sum it up, a total ten and rich, rich, rich.

Then we have Dylan, potato-chip loving, Alice&Olivia-obsessed, happy-go-lucky, once-removed-famous Dylan. Sometimes, reporters follow us around for information on her mother, which she willingly gives, although only the good stuff. And sometimes the paparazzi take pictures of the rest of us too.

And there's Kristen, the Gamma. Not only is she the brains of our group, she's also the most athletic. She's the smartest girl in our grade and she's also the best at any sport she plays. Her phlegmy laugh makes me smile on the worst of days, and her blonde hair is usually in a high pony. Her eyes change color too: cerulean to ice to navy to azure to sky, so we can always judge her mood.

Last, we have Claire Lyons. Claire doesn't really care about how she looks or about her social status, but still, she's admired by many. Her white-blonde hair falls down past her shoulders, and her bangs are finally growing out (thank God!). And she scored a totally H.A.R.T (hot, Alpha, rich, toned) guy, Cameron Fisher. I really don't know why Claire is even in the Pretty Committee. She isn't like Dyl, Kris, or me. Maybe it's because she always knows the right thing to say. Maybe it's because her innocence always makes me smile. Maybe it's because...

"Leesh? You there?" Claire interrupts me, and I realize I've zoned off.

"Sorry, girlies." I smile and flip a long, dark lock of hair over my shoulder. "Where were we?"

"Gossip Points." Dylan rolls her eyes.

"Right, right. Now is anybody going to ask me if I have any gossip?" I look around at each of them, faking patience.

"Oh, dear Alicia, do you have any gossip for us?" Kristen widens her eyes.

I smile. "As it happens, I do indeed."

"Well?" all three girls chorus.

I pause, inducing suspense. "We're getting a new girl."

"Ooh!" Dylan claps her hands. "Is she Pretty Committee-worthy? LBR? B-List? Should we invite her to our next party?"

"I'm not sure yet," I say, "but I do know she is an honor roll student and comes from a rich family."

Kris perks up at this. She's always excited when she hears the words 'honor' or 'smart.'

"When is she going to be at school?"

I turn to Claire and answer, "First day back from winter break, so Monday."

"20 points at the least. Do you all ah-gree?" Dylan turns to Kris and Claire. They nod, and I smirk. 20 points for me!

"Oh wait! I know a name!" I suddenly remember. All three girls lean forward and I whisper the new girl's name. "Massie Block."

* * *

**RIVERA MANSION**

**MEETING ROOM**

**SATURDAY, JANUARY 3**

**1:02 PM**

Len Rivera boots up his laptop and checks the various screens of his security cameras to ensure that the house is completely empty. His wife is out with her friend, Marsha Gregory, that girl Kristen's mother, and Alicia is on an all-day shopping spree at the Westchester with her friends. Neither will be home until much later.

"You're late," he declares.

"I know. There was a car crash, and tons of back-up on the way here."

Forcing an accepting expression, he murmurs breezily, "Let's move on. Are there agents on us yet?"

"Not so far," the man replies, a little miffed. "It's not normal for the AIA to not be up to date on these kinds of things. Usually, they're completely on top of it."

Len sniffs, knowing the man is right, just not in the mood to admit it. "Have you gotten the new security for the money?"

"It's being taken care of as we speak."

Len stands and extends his hand. "Thank you. Until circumstances require us to meet again, I bid you farewell."

"Goodbye, Mr. Rivera."

The man's name is James Harrington.

**please please with a bunch of lame** **prettys review! U must must ;D I hope u liked the chapter and I should have the next one up soon!**

**-Dream :)**


	2. Westchestering, Yelling, and the Mall

**Authors Note: haii guys sorry I didnt update sooner! ;( I've been really busy. But I finally got this chapter our with the help of my amazing beta reader, Joy aka outside the crayon box !**

**so yeah here's the chapter. Hope u like it :)**

**disclaimer: I dont own the clique. why would I be on fanfiction if I owned the clique? I would be on my private yacht**

* * *

**BLOCK ESTATE**

**MASSIE'S ROOM**

**SATURDAY, JANUARY 3**

**4:47 AM**

_"Massie Elizabeth!"_ The shrill sound of Kendra Block's screeches cuts through the peaceful air. "Are you up? You _better_ be up! Your alarm rang_ ten minutes ago_!"

"Leave me alone!" I yell back groggily, still taking in my surroundings. I vaguely remember the last time I didn't get out of bed when I was supposed to. Was it 100 push-ups (or maybe 200)? But either is nothing compared to agent training.

I roll out of bed and promptly crash onto my stomach. By the time I stumble to my feet, gripping my sore belly, my mother is shouting. _Again._

"What could you possibly want?! Is the house on fire? Is someone _dying_? _I don't think so!_"

Limping over to my drawer, I pull out sheer black leggings and a black sports bra. I grab a cotton tee just in case someone unexpected will be at training (I have them in 80,000 different colors; they're the only thing I wear outside the AIA; this one happens to be forest green) and I retrieve my fluffy (black) North Face jacket from its hook.

Then I slip on the bra and pants, chuck the rest into a bag, tie it, and carry it into the bathroom with me. I tie my lanky chestnut hair into a super-high ponytail, put on just the tiniest touch of eyeliner (agents have to look intimidating, or at least that's the reason I was given when I turned 11. But I think they just wanted to see me wear some makeup), and brush my teeth. Then I spit, rinse, swish around a tablespoon of mouthwash, repeat, and turn the tap off. All set.

I job downstairs, look down at my feet, let out a curse, and run back up, pick up my shoes, and sprint back down.

Shuffling into the kitchen, my nose fills with the blissful aroma of a cheese and spinach omelette. Mentally reminding myself to thank Inez later, I pick up the fork, cut off a piece of omelette and insert it into my waiting mouth. I automatically pat my pockets to make sure I have chewing gum for later.

"Massie! You're late and Isaac has been waiting for you for 20 minutes! As an AIA agent, you are always expected to be on time."

"Ugh, you don't have to yell. You're standing right in front of me." I raise my hands in front of my face

_Please_, I pray, _don't let today be as bad as this morning._

* * *

"Okay, Mass," Molly, the plump, bubbly, strawberry-blonde AIA field designer, claps her hands together in excitement, "ready to be Westchestered? I was thinking we could start with simple caramel highli-"

"Westchester?!" I shriek. "Are you _kidding _me?!" Of course, Director didn't _think_ to tell me I'd be going to an upper-class, totally snotty, stuck-up New York county.

"Relax, Massie." Molly puts a sympathetic hand on my arm. "That's where the Rivera case is. Didn't Director tell you? You're moving there. "

"No. He never said a thing." _Of course, _I think. _Well, at least _now_ this day really _can't _be any worse._

* * *

"This is completely unfair." There is no way I am going to lose my temper in front of my boss, but my blood is literally boiling. "You cannot send me off to live in _Westchester_."

"Massie Elizabeth; do you want this case or not?"

Director has known me since I was a baby. My parents were both star agents, top in their divisions, and from the second they found out I have ten fingers and ten toes, it's been down that I had to go into the business. I've never really questioned it, although most girls would want a social life. I think it's cool that I'm a secret agent for an elite business. After all, how many girl get _that_?

"Yes, Director, I want this case, but-" The look on his face stops me in my tracks. "Fine. Fine, fine, fine. I'll do it. I'll go to Westchester. Fine. But no one is highlighting my hair, thank _you _very much. And I know that was your idea, Director." I grit my teeth. "Don't you _dare _laugh."

I turn on the heel of my combat boot, ready to make a dramatic exit, but the carpet is folded over at the edge, and I trip over it, collapsing onto my hands. "You did that on purpose," I accuse.

With the Director chuckling behind me, I stomp out.

* * *

**WESTCHESTER MALL**

**FOOD COURT**

**SATURDAY, JANUARY 3**

**12:32 PM**

Dyl and I strut through the mall, ignoring the jealous looks we received from other girls we walked past. After all, we're pretty, dressed in the hottest, newest clothes, and obviously wealthy, since we're armed with all our own credit cards. Plus, we don't have any parents trailing after us.

One girl with dishwater-colored hair (not that I know what dishwater looks like) grabs my arm. "Alicia! Why are you here?" she squealed, and I realize she's a C-List loser from my school named Kori. I vaguely remember her being a major Kristen knockoff, so I immediately yank my arm away in disgust.

"First awf: don't even consider touching me ah-gain. Second: why would I nawt be here?"

Unfazed, Kori chirps back with, "OMG, Leesh, you're so funny." What a freak.

I take a step back, my spike heels making a clicking sound on the cool white tile floor. In her plain blue flats, she's at least four inches shorter than me, so I tower over her. "Don't call me Leesh. Only my friends can call me that." I give her a once-over, noticing her black Juicy Couture track jacket and light wash jeans. "Do you know Kris (which you also cannot say, by the way) just bought that same outfit? Like, five months ago?"

Kori looks around discreetly, but I catch it. "Well, actually no. I didn't know," she mumbles. She slides a gray ponytail-holder off her wrist and pulls up her gross hair, then slides a thick black lace headband in.

"That's also Kristen's signature hair style." I lean over to Dyl and whisper, "EW. Tell everyone." Dylan nods with a slight smirk, knowing that being an EW is even worse than an LBR, and starts to make a enormous group message.

Meanwhile, Kori's started to protest. Pathetic. "So what if I look like Kristen? Maybe she stole this look from me!" Kori's face was turning a nice shade of red (do they have that in lipstick? I'll have to check Sephora later).

I lean down. The smell of my Angel perfume makes me smile, probably scaring her all the more. Pursing my lips, I explain, as though I would to a kindergartner, "You, sweetheart, are an LBR, now an EW. You are C-List. There is no way an A-Lister, especially one in the Pretty Committee, would ever steal a look from the likes of you."

Kori gets up in my face, blinking profusely. I can perspiration dripping down her forehead. Ew. _So _ew. I raise my hand above my head and snap three times. In unison, Dylan and I shout, "Security!"

"Hello, Ms. Rivera, Ms. Marvil. Did you see the sale at Gucci?"

"We did, Rick, thanks." I smile lightly at the least burly of the three guards, as the other one, Steven, frowns at Kori.

"So what's the problem today?" I notice the silent security guard, whose nametag reads '**James**', eyeing my necklace, one my dad just got me. It's a bronze key, although when I asked him, he said it didn't unlock anything, but that's okay. It's cute, and has earned me many envious stares, or maybe that's my new DKNY handbag. Or my limited-edition Kate Spade riding boots. Or my Tory Burch draped blouse.

"This girl, Kerry, was bothering me." Dylan nods in agreement, her curly red hair bouncing.

Rick just sighs and turns to the nervous blonde. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave Miss Rivera and Miss Marvil alone, Kerry."

"It's Kori."

"Kerry, Kori, whatevs." Dylan waggles her fingers. "Buh-_bye_."

"Thank you Rick," I say graciously as he escorts her off.

He nods tiredly.

**James** is still standing there.

"Um, hel_lo_? Take a picture; it'll last longer."

He ignores me, his eyes still glued to the necklace.

"Is this a newbie?" I ask. "He's being awfully annoying."

Rick nods and puts a questioning hand on his comrade's shoulder.

**James** shrugs him off and returns to ogling the key. "That key... are you... who are..." A light brightens in his eyes. _"Alicia Rivera?"_

"Duh." I think for a second. "Hold awn, how do you know my name?"

"You're Len Rivers's daughter, correct?"

"His last name is _Rivera_. And what's it to you?"

At this, James walks off.

I roll my eyes at Rick. "What's with him?"

Rick just shrugs and turns to yell at a kid walking on the edge of the fountain, leaving Dylan and I to make a beeline for Ralph Lauren, my absolute favorite store. I picked up a few necessities, such as three shirts, two pairs of jeans, a pair of leggings, and a new blanket for my spa. Dylan grabs some perfume, a container of lotion, and a smaller size in a top she'd bought last week, but had turned out too big. She's been losing a lot of weight recently.

Then a chime from my iPhone 5C brought my eyes down to the screen, which portrayed a large picture of Kristen, posing in a new outfit and grinning. Then a text arrived, causing Dyl and I to stop short, the people behind us cursing.

**SEXYSPORTSBABE: What do u think?  
****HOLAGURRL: Kris, puh-lease, yr burning my eyes.**

I wrinkle my nose at the unflattering Aeropostale dress she was sporting. Her broad shoulders were accentuated too much, and the hem squeezed her stomach, causing her six-pack of muscle to look like fat.

Dylan jabs in the forearm. "Leesh! Did you just get that picture from Kristen?"

I fake-gag. "That dress? So D2M." Not like it wasn't already.

This is normal, if you're wondering:

1.) We split up into pairs: Dyl and me, and Kris and Claire.

2.) Kristen and Claire sneak off to the (shudder) lower-end section of the mall, where Aeropostale, Hollister, Pacific Sun, and American Eagle are located. Of course, they buy absolutely nothing because nobody in the Pretty Committee would ever be caught dead in those clothes.

3.) We take turns picking up Starbucks (today it's Dylan's), and meet at the lounge in the center of the mall before heading home with my driver, Alex, in our limo.

As you can see, we have some pretty busy lives.

* * *

Half a low-fat French Vanilla latte and eight minutes later, five guys approach us, pushing and shoving and laughing. I quickly move my coffee away from the edge of the table, gripping it with both hands.

"Alicia!" The first one wolf-whistles. "Still looking good, I see." Classic Kemp Hurley.

"Kemp!" I greet him genuinely. "Still a total pervert and," I sniff. "Smell weird, am I right?"

Dylan burps out, "Dissed," and Kristen giggles.

"Good one, Dylan." Chris Plovert smiles sheepishly at Dyl and engages her in a conversation about red velvet cake.

Thankfully, Kemp swaggers over to Kristen and begins boasting about an amazing lefthand kick (or something like that) that scored the winning goal.

Meanwhile, Claire chats with her boyfried Cam Fisher. He has jet-black hair, which he gels back, one blue and one green eye, and tan skin. I'd totally love him if it weren't for Derrick Harrington, star goalie of the Briarwood Tomahawks. With his messy brown-blonde hair (_so_ not dishwater), and caramel eyes, and his horrible habit of always wearing shorts, I was attracted from the moment I met him.

I wish he felt the same about me.

"Alicia, hey." Josh saunters over with an open grin. He's Spanish, like me, with perfect white teeth, extremely dark skin, warm brown eyes, and, unlike me, a veryslight accent. We've dated on and off, and right now is a rare off: not in a relationship, but still friends. "What's up?"

Yeah, Josh is cute and all, but I'd much rather be talking to Derrick Harrington (AKA Derrington). In fact, I'd be content to just sit with him and admire his beauty, but unfortunately, he's moved on to Kris and Kemp's conversation.

Usually, if a boy doesn't like me, I dismiss him as not worth it.

But Derrington is different

* * *

**ok there u go! **

**REVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEW**

**-Dream**


	3. Prepping, Planes, and Alicia

**authors note: hihi, super sorry about the wait, I've been busy and will be updating much more now that this story is like really getting started**

**anyways enjoy the chapter!**

**disclaimer: I dont own the clique :(**

* * *

**AIA HEADQUARTERS**

**TRAINING ROOM**

**SUNDAY, JANUARY 4**

**9:22 AM**

Taking a deep breath, I rise onto my toes and take three sprinting steps across the bouncy gray floor. I catapult forward onto my hands, locking my arms straight as I perform a round-off back-handspring back-handspring back full. Then I leap to the side and do a quick punch-front, extending my hand in front of me as though I'm about to attack someone.

"Remind me why I have to learn gymnastics?" I grumble towards my feet.

But my workout instructor, Dorian, picks it up and immediately shoots me a dirty look. "Picture this: you're in a fistfight and the guy goes to punch you in the stomach. Where does gymnastics come in? Standing backflip, and you not only escape his punch, but your feet probably hit his hands. Not only does it look cool, but it's a total ouchie. Now, I think we're done for today. Finish your conditioning, change, and shower. Director probably wants to see you." He snaps his fingers and begins to depart, but then turns. "Good luck on the Rivers mission, Miss Block. Be careful, be smart, and think fast." With that, Dorian comes charging at me and lunges, kicking out.

But I immediately deflect it. "Too easy," I smirk, and Dorian smiles.

"See you later, Mass." And he leaves.

* * *

"You do realize you're leaving for Westchester tonight, right? I hope you've packed." Director's eyebrows raise, discerning the expression on my face. "Massie, how could you forget?" _I know, I know. _"I'll send you home early today so you can get ready. But of course, you still need to be prepped." 'Prepping' is when you get prepared for your mission. You get the tools, advice, and warning you'll need, which the Director gives personally.

He leans forward, sliding a phone across the table to me. "Your communication to us. Un-hackable." Next, he slides the Rivers family files at me. "Just in case." With his elbows resting on the polished wood desk, hands crossed, he looks right in my eyes and utters exactly what I wasn't expecting. "This case will be harder than you think. Len Rivers is ruthless, and won't hesitate to hurt you. Now here's the plan: find the girl, Alicia, befriend her, stake out the house and set up cameras, then return and grab the money. Arrest him. If you ever need backup, you know what to do. Communicate with us as often as possible; we won't call and disrupt you except in the case of a dire emergency. Clear?"

It sounds so simple, so I don't hesitate to scoff, "Easy."

But he shakes his head. "No, it won't be. Alicia is not the type of girl you give a friendship bracelet to and immediately become friends with."

"Are you doubting me?"

"Of course not. I will only doubt you if you doubt yourself. Good luck."

What the heck does he mean? But I don't stop to ponder it. I just nod, grab the files and my new phone, and get out of there.

* * *

Packing was the easy part. I don't have a lot of stuff, really. Mostly AIA training clothes, which I won't need, and a few pairs of sneakers. Everything else is always supplied by Molly. So all I brought was a toothbrush, hairbrush, basic makeup, and feminine products. My new wardrobe and furniture are already at our new estate in Westchester.

Absentmindedly, I pet my prized possession, my black pug, Bean. She's a rare pedigree, and the only thing I own that's actually Westchester-worthy. It had been a birthday gift from Director when I turned ten, which earned me many enemies. Not everyone gets presents from the Director.

Finally, a lady in all-black approaches. "Can I get you something, Mr. and Mrs. Block? Or you, Miss Block?"

"I'll take a Diet Coke, please," I request with a tight smile.

The flight attendant hands me my drink, beaming unnaturally. The good thing about taking a private jet is that you get perfect service, all throughout the trip.

"Are you excited? Nervous?" my mother asks eagerly as she plops down in the seat next to me.

"Neither. It's just another case," I say, shrugging coolly and taking a sip.

"In _Westchester_. You're moving across the country!" She grins widely. "New school! New friends!"

I match her overly perky tone. "Don't care!"

With a sigh, she rubs my shoulder. "Hey, I was your age once too, and I was an agent-in-training. Now, I understand that that's not as hard as what you're doing, but-"

"But what?"

"But I do get it. I'm an agent too; I understand this just feels normal. But Westchester is different, honey."

"What do you mean?"

"First of all, we're really involved in this one. You're not the only one who has to make changes. We have to turn into high-society, blue-blood parents. We've got to act rich, snotty, and, well, like Westchesterites."

"What for?"

"We have benefits to attend, new friends of yours to meet, all that kind of thing." She smirks a little. "It's not a bowl of cherries for us either."

"I don't _like_ cherries." I scowl.

My mother sighs again and gets up, her brand-new Christian Louboutin heels clacking as she makes her way back towards my dad.

I lean back in my seat, bored already. Remote in hand, I flip through the TV channels, settling on something called Teen Wolf, which I think you can guess I've never heard of, but it doesn't take my mind off the task at hand. I can't shake the feeling this case is over my head.

**HARRINGTON HOME**

**FRONT HALLWAY**

**SUNDAY, JANUARY 4**

**6:57 PM**

"Cammie!" Derrick Harrington wrenches open the door, grinning at the sight of his best friend, a boy with two different colored eyes by the name of Cameron Fisher.

"Derry!" Cam teases back, also using a childhood nickname. "Your house smells good." He takes an exaggerated sniff.

"Sammi just made cookies for some class at her school. Don't bother asking her for any, she won't give in. I already tried."

"I want cookies," Cam whines.

"I have ice cream," he sing-songs.

"Sounds good."

The pair strolls into Derrick's kitchen, pointedly ignoring Derrick's sister, who is proudly sprinkling sugar over her freshly baked goods. After a quick flavor fight (Derrick wants plain old chocolate, but Cam's into Rocky Road), they grab both boxes.

Derrick and Cam carry the gallon containers into the den, shoving each other and laughing for no particular reason. Plopping down on leather couches, they fight over what game to play (Derrick wants Call of Duty, and Cam wants Halo).

"It's my house; my vote counts double," Derrick declares, turning on his X-Box.

Cam is about to roll his eyes and consent when Derrick's phone screams.

_"What the actual fucking hell is that?" _Cam inches away from his friend.

"Just my cell. I updated my ringtone. But I'm not picking up; it's Alicia.".

"You have to answer her. You can't leave your girlfriend waiting." Cam punches Derrick in the shoulder, hard enough to cause him to accidently hit Accept.

"Fuck you, Cam," Derrick snaps, covering the mouthpiece and ignoring Alicia's greeting. "I don't even like her that way."

"Why not? She's hot."

"Claire would kill you for saying that, you know."

"I would never choose Alicia over Claire, and everyone knows that. Now pick up before she gets mad."

Derrick glares at Cam and slowly removes his hand.

"Hi, Derrick," Alicia says lightly, her voice flirty. Quiet giggles and breaths come from the other end, which alerts the boys to the rest of the Pretty Committee's presence.

"Hey, Alic-"

"Hi Claire!" Cam yells.

"Cam! Did you get my text earlier? When do you-"

"You guys can talk later, Kuh-Laire," Alicia reprimands sharply.

"Sorry," Claire hisses back.

"So," Alicia starts, "what's up?"

"Besides the sky? Just hanging with Cam."

"Cool." Her uncaring tone makes it clear she might as well not have asked the question. "Anyway, I was thinking of throwing a party Friday at my house, and I was wondering if you and your _posse _would want to come?"

"My posse?"

"Fisher, Plovert, Hotz, and Hurley.

"Oh. Um, yeah, we wouldn't miss it."

"Great!" Her voice changes from bored to excited. "I'll give you more details later."

"Alright, see you soon, Alicia," Derrick finishes, slapping Cam across the face.

"What was that for?!" he demands indignantly, hitting back.

"Alicia is not my fucking girlfriend, and I swear to God if you make those goddamn kissy noises one more time I will bring my "posse" over here and-" He can't finish, though, because now they're both laughing.

_""Posse,"" _Cam snorts, falling back onto the couch. _""Posse.""_

Derrick ignores him and stares at the cell. "Why won't she give up?"

"Because she likes you, dimwit. Why don't you go for her? She's the hottest thing at BOCD since... ever."

"She really isn't my ty-" Derricks voice trails off, hearing a loud door slamming. He gets up and enters the hallway.

James Harrington stomps over to the hall closet, slamming the door after hanging up his jacket.

Derrick stares questioningly. "Dad? Are you alright?"

James glances at Derrick, probably just noticing he's standing there watching. "Oh, hi, Son. Just a tough day at work." He pulls off his Italian leather dress shoes and marches off, still muttering disjointed phrases such as, "If that goddamn AIA could go to hell" and "she's a baby anyway" and "Massie Block."

Derrick has no idea that by tomorrow, Massie Block will occupy all his thoughts as well.

* * *

**PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! There's a nice place right down there to review, so please do :) and happy New Years guys! What are you doing tonight? I'm just gunna chill at homeeee :D**

**-Chica**


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